


A night to herself

by CyanideSins



Category: RWBY
Genre: Anal Sex, Cravings, F/M, Fantasizing, Femdom, Hate Sex, Loneliness, Love/Hate, Masturbation, Partner Betrayal, Pegging, Rage, Revenge, Sexual Fantasy, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 08:35:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24846904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CyanideSins/pseuds/CyanideSins
Summary: Even evil witches need some time to themself. Salem's moment of peace leaves her to drift to those dark paths of the past, when there had been love, joy and a husband to grace her bed. A whisper of craving, as even an immortal needs a night to herself, to shed the cloak of darkness and to drift away to better times.A commission by someone who wishes to remain anonymous.
Relationships: Ozma/Salem (RWBY)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 18





	A night to herself

**This is commissioned work for a commissioner who wishes to remain anonymous.  
  
Interested in commissioning me? Send a mail to ** **cyanidesinscommissions@gmail.com**

* * *

The eternal purple twilight of her domain did not always call to her with the beauty of the world, the light of the sun slowly illuminating her castle for the last few shards of the day as the night fell, the moon rising slowly from behind the horizon in all of its shattered glory.

She could remember a day when the moon had been full, when there had been nothing but a hand in hers, a feeling of joy in her heart as she imagined that she could fly to the moon, to escape that dark tower in which she had been locked forevermore.

A hope that had been granted, and yet denied. The life of her husband, her lover and her whole world had been taken by a cruel disease, made into something cruel and inhuman thanks to the Gods’ designs for life and death.

“You may leave me be for the night, Cinder.”

The girl was learning how to control the Grimm implanted within her, the lust for power growing more intense with every step of the way down the dark path, groomed into what she would eventually become. The power was superficial to her, as she still held more than Cinder did. The girl was attempting to challenge an immortal witch, a humourous pastime at times, when the jealousy would grow and the looks would be more intense.

The soft ‘Of course’ from the girl trailed off, as the door shut behind her, the desolation in front of her only interrupted with the pools of the Grimm that continued to birth more of the creatures for the grand destruction of the world’s foundations. Eighty years of ‘peace’ that had been won through the Great War, or one of the wars, at least. To her, it was hardly more than a brief battle, something to push aside and to labour upon the next War, to shift aside that burden that could only be called ‘life’ and to bring the world crashing down on the man who had betrayed her.

The creatures of Grimm, the monsters that had been minor pests during her lifetime before the death of her love, were a genuine threat to the humans who chose to isolate themselves, who did not seem to think about the world before they had decided to twist it into something that they would be able to manage, settlements for those who did not agree with the way things were ran in the Kingdoms, the easy prey for her ministrations.

She strode down the stairs leading towards the conference room, where the minions usually held their little gathering when she summoned them. Such fragile creatures, burning with the hopes and ambitions that always would be after her own, the craving for something that had been taken from them, or the power that she could give to them…

A stirring within her loins as she stalked past the Grimm that roamed the inside of her castle, only the allowance of her powers giving them reason to part before her. Magic was power, and the Grimm held a magic of their own, soulless though they were. Humans had their soul, their  _ aura _ , as it was.

She had her magic and the immortality of a body that would not perish. A single wooden door stood there, reinforced with metal, the wood lacquered and taken care of well by Tyrian’s devoted hands. It was harder to fetch wood from a distance, and the door had done its service well, keeping her slumber undisturbed, her eyes going for the single piece of modern technology which sat within the corner, hooked up to the system that would power it.

The Dust generators powered the technology, a small disk already pulled up. She often preferred some music whilst attempting to sleep, the plans and plots that had buzzed through her mind oftentimes making her wish for the time to be different, so there would be desires soothed and cravings filled. A sad situation, but not one that made her feel like the world had an alternative. A click, and the disk was pushed in, an elegant musical composition as well as a string quartet that had been recorded in the last decade, something to bring the world together, before the string quartet had been unfortunately decimated in a Grimm attack.

The bed was broad and decorated with iconography of the Grimm. Beowolves carved into the posts held the large frame aloft, the headboard carved with the crest that she had made herself, to show to her former husband that there was nowhere where she would not be able to watch him, the Grimm like an omnipresent problem for him to face.

The thought of her husband brought to mind pleasure, the fading feeling of having once had him inside of her, of having been in a relationship with a living, breathing person. The mourning after the deaths of their children and the revenge that she had promised upon him for defying her will, the faint hints of pain that occasionally shot through her when she saw small children around the age of ten, blonde and blue-eyed.

A finger brushed over her breasts, the ripened globes of flesh still as perky and bouncy as they were ever since the world had changed. The bed was something that was built for comfort, for her to sleep the days away. At times, she allowed herself to languish within the bed for months, daring to make Ozma find the world’s unity and then tear it from underneath him. A man who had his talents at fighting could not easily unify a world.

A pale finger traced over the nipple as she remembered that feeling of being in the bed with him, of laying next to him, his dusky skin like a pale accompaniment to her own, a shade darker than her countrymen. He had been a hero, a legendary one, a savior of the oppressed and the lover that she had always wished for, before death and disease had claimed him.

His fingers gripping her breasts, just the right size to make her feel a shudder of pleasure, shooting through her body, her lower body bucking softly at the touch, without even a hint of care for how it looked. None dared to disturb her slumber, as the music started up with the first few movements, her mind drifting away.

The warm sun on their skin, reminding her of the freedom that she felt, a long pace through the valley that had led them to an outcropping that hung over a perilous depth, her fingers in his own callused hand, as he pulled out wildflowers that he’d plucked. Not a gift for a queen, but for something that had come later, something that the woman in her could appreciate.

Her fingers tracing over his rugged shoulders, her lips pressing against his skin as he groaned, and he grew below her, the feeling of her man below her bringing an odd sense of satisfaction, the burning need within her never quite stopping at the experience that she felt, as they made love again.

Her fingers were tugging at her nipples as the music carried her on, reminded of that gasping, halting and burdensome frolicking. They had been undisturbed, the hacking cough that had accompanied him for nearly three weeks having been cured, though it returned once more later, with more intensity.

Her body curling against him as they laid, the Grimm moving below without noticing their presence. Things had been different, and they had not needed the bedroll, nor had they needed the presence of something that would have made them a target of the Grimm, her eyes looking at his tense features, always ready to defend her.

The tugging of her nipples ceased, as the throaty moan came from her lips, an urgent call for something that would seem like absolution from the burden that she carried with her, the heavy need within her continuing to buzz and burn without any resolution, the shifting in the bed as she laid on her front, her groin burning.

_ ‘I hate you.’ _

The thought of that kept her going. He had betrayed her, and yet she had loved him. The feeling of burning in the dark ichors of the pools, hurting in every pore and then emerging with that dark rage burning within her, like a lit torch that did not extinguish, was something magnificent.

Her fingers slid down between her thighs, brushing over her sex and stroking over the moistened lips. Thoughts of her ex-husband had brought on… terrible little fancies. Hopeful little fancies, memories of what had been once a thing in the world to forget, rather than to cherish it.

A finger pumped into her depths, an unlady-like gesture that she continued nevertheless for the pleasure that it gave her, the pumping sensation bringing to mind that first love that they made, away from the tower that had housed her. A quick moment, a shed dress and a low and halting method of love-making, where she had found out that no, one did not immediately get to having the copulation, but that one should make things go a touch smoother with some more warming up.

She had been a virgin, and he had not been. She did not know his history, but nowadays in this new remnant of the world, it would have been in the numbers of a small kingdom. The man’s touch had set her body ablaze with lust, craving and desire, more than anything else in this world. She could not deny it, the handsome features twisted in ecstasy as she made love to him.

A slurping sound as she pulled the finger from her depths, another finger joining its companion, two digits pumping into her depths slowly, reminded of the aftermath, a fling that had turned into a two-hour-long romp that had not helped their chances of getting away from her father’s kingdom. There had been a narrow escape, but her father’s forces had not tracked down ‘Princess Salem’, which was a boon, as Ozma’s features had been half-disarrayed, the bite-marks on his skin by her a novel way of marking his skin as hers.

A shudder with every breath as she imagined that feeling, of him below her, the way that they had made love in a rush, in a frenzy, for her to stain herself with him. The potion that she had taken afterwards had driven off the child, as she had been aware of the aftereffects of coupling, but the smell of him had lingered for a day, the smell of his scent on her own, as they travelled further into the world, in search of freedom. Adventures that had come on their path slowly twisted around the world like a rampaging goliath, a whirlwind that burned and tore and twisted around them, as she was the one who saved the world with him from the evil king, her father’s kingdom razed to the ground by her own hands, all for him.

A keening sound disturbed the music, as she realized that another finger had joined her, her hand jerking and pumping, driving deep into her body like a stabbing, digging motion. She was getting closer, reminded of that moment afterwards, the little house that they’d come across during the trip back towards civilization. A whole day of nakedly lounging within the decrepit surroundings, the previous occupants ambushed by a Grimm apparently, bones long-since bleak to the wind. They had buried them, but the freedom had been something to relish in.

A shiver through her lower body, aware that her own climax was close, reminded of that time in the house that they’d claimed, a little venture that they’d tried to do again. She’d made sure that the house remained, that there would be no invaders to their little slice of paradise, keeping it in shape so that she would be able to remember the good time that she’d had.

It was daring to walk around naked, unaware of someone coming to visit, or something else. Ozma had been a little shy, but it had been a thrill that had come with the burdened life of a former princess who had to look as fashionable as she could, with poise and grace and delight at the dull happenings of courtly life. Father had been restrictive, and she had only been able to brush the briefest swath of freedom away.

Her fingers started to grow more frantic, as she yearned for a moment for those careless times, of just walking through the house, a low groan from her lips in the present uttering a name not uttered by her before, a hiss as she leaked, fingers dripping with her juices, her inner folds wrapping around the fingers as the three pumped into her as if she were playing the chords of a musical instrument to perfection, a shuddering gasp, as she felt the closeness of her release.

The musical tune cutting off with a slow drum roll, the next part of the music starting, a soft screeching violin starting up to bring the night’s shrill merciless tune of the symphony of the lost, the name of this part of the musical arrangement, music that had held despair and beauty, a perfect accompaniment to her entertainment.

Shivering, as she remembered the creak of the wood, the hush of her lips as she kissed against her husband’s lips, the feeling of strong hands guiding her to the bedroom, aware that there would be a bed that was already made for the two of them waiting there, like a blessing from above (she had worked to learn domestic tasks. Even knitting was a task that she had learned for her husband and true love.) as she was put down on the bed like the princess she was.

_ ‘And you took it from me.’ _

She quivered, shocking with the throes of an orgasm, reminded of the laughter that she had heard when he’d tickled her, before the rattling coughs had first come. She had made him soup, his own admission of having to be better than letting some common cold take him. It had been cozy. Calm, quiet and cozy.

Her juices dripped against the fabric of the mattress, the awareness of her body quivering in that brief moment of bliss, aware of those beautiful eyes looking into her own, the handsome smile, as he asked her to give her blessing to him.

Sex had been something of a side-thing for a while after that, with the two of them sliding back and forth about some of the things, the tricks that she’d learned through experience making her husband feel wonderful, even as she lowered herself to do things she’d never dared to do.

Her lips had pressed against the head in a smooch that had been longer than she’d ever kissed her husband, taking his phallus into her mouth, the gasping groaning from him having stimulated her to go even further.

Her fingers still pumped into her depths, as her mind returned to those fever-riddled days when he had been bed-bound, his eyes looking as beautiful when they were opened, the lust within her body barely stopping as she felt the climax wind down, her fingers sending small shocks of pleasure through her lower body at the feeling of those soft climax-laden folds yielding still.

_ ‘A little more of a test… Yes, this’ll be a good moment to relax. I need a night to myself, just…’ _

It had been the first time that he’d made love with her again after getting well. A soft little brush of his hands and her nostrils filled with that earthy manly scent, the wood that he’d chopped now half-forgotten as he’d picked her up and carried her to the bench that’d been sat below the room where he’d been laid up, citing a need to thank his lovely wife for her blessing of love.

It had been hot. It had been warm. It had been a hot sweltering summer and he’d rocked her on the bench, taking the hole that was usually exit-only with his hard shaft, a mistake that she hadn’t corrected on, the small shriek that she’d made only stopped by the grunt of his love in her ears, as his hands grabbed her hips and tugged her closer.

He had apologized, but she’d urged him on, wanting to please him. Climax after climax, the feeling of that tightness of hers yielding to her husband, to the man she wished to have children of and live a happy life, something that couldn’t be stopped. It was a brief bold feeling that did not stop at all, that hold on the world shattering a moment later as she quivered again as another orgasm rippled through her, the memory of being a good wife to her husband before his death opening the shutters on the brightest orgasm yet, as she leaked again, sensitive and needy. A gasping moan, as she bit down on the pillow, hard nipples pressing against the bed, her hips pushing down against her fingers, as gasping, groaning moans came from her lips, the music blacking them out from audibility, as the thunderous music was as a storm that passed by.

She had loved him, yet he had been taken from her. Her body shocked still a little, a convulsion of that pleasure, as the rage blossomed again. It had been once that he had made love to her in the wrong hole, and she had not seized her revenge yet, knowing that he would be weak and fragile for a while yet. He had collapsed afterwards on top of her, groaning with disappointment as his seed leaked from her buttocks as he shrank slowly, and she had worried for him again, blaming herself.

_ ‘It was just a minor moment of fatigue, he said.’ _

She drew herself up, her crimson gaze going to the lit-up display on the musical player, the musical number still slowly winding there. She was in need, yet she needed something more filling than her fingers, something that made her feel properly pleased, aware of the lacking nature of her own digits, coated in her juices as they were.

Her fingers were licked off, the salty taste of her own juices like a reminder of herself as a woman, as a being which craved love and affection, if the hate had not swallowed her whole being whole millennia before. She had not taken lovers, as they had all been lacking in comparison to her husband. The long wait at the house before someone came was something that she had bore with the grace that had been expected of a queen, something that had been her punishment, as Humanity had returned once more. 

It had been a laborious effort, something that had made the world into vibrancy once more as she’d ventured out one day and come across humans, real humans that lived and breathed, rather than the emptiness that had been there. She had retreated to her hut later, only to feel the loneliness once more creep into her.

She remembered the vows that she had made to her husband, the love that she had never wished to leave and had always desired in the darkest depths of her own mind, aware that there was humanity once more and she was without her husband.

She crawled over to the side of the bed, reaching below it and pulling out a small case. A craftsman had made her this, something that she could appreciate fully, the smoothness of the case and the embellishment of her personal seal. His family would never have survived the winter without her support, and the man had carved the tool of pleasure with a skillful hand.

The wooden phallus was something that had been carved with the care for pleasure, as she slid it against her lips, reminding herself of those times when her husband had not been exactly in the mood. She had coaxed him during the night, feeling his hardening rod press against her slit and the feeling of him reacting, the smile on her lips like the beacon which he could look forward to when he woke up.

A princess had needs, and she had been dutiful in her life’s goal of ensuring that they would have the freedom that they wished. She had not been wrong at all for wanting to make her lover feel like he was a king, but he had been stubborn.

When the head pushed into her depths, she could feel the rush inside her at the feeling of a phallus, though it was but a toy to assist her in getting the stress out of her system, the long moan from her lips as an ‘ahhmmmah!’ sound, the filling sensation reminding her of the passionate nights, of the moments when she had coaxed her husband into making love.

The floor had been rough against her back, yet she had not minded it, spreading herself for her husband, the man who she loved and craved. The pleasure that came from the phallus inside her almost like his own. The immortal life that she had been granted had been but a muted experience, as she recalled when she’d still been mortal, her lover’s touch on her skin, the scrapes and bruises that she had gotten from him. It had been a roughness that she’d craved many times, and he had accepted that as lovingly as he could.

Her legs parted as she drove the shaft into her depths, the grip on it shifting a little, scraping at the sensitive edges, reminding herself of those halcyon days of love and life. The days when the sun had shone on their little home in the middle of the forest, when there had been laughter and sickness, his simpering smile as she tried her best to cook the foods that he would like. She was not someone who would leave her husband to his fate, caring for him.

The taste of sweat on her tongue as she’d cleaned his cheek off with her tongue, the smile on her lips as he shifted in the bed, his weakness once more apparent, the tanned skin turning paler as he had been bedridden, her nose smelling that familiar scent of the man she had once loved again, as she drove the phallus into her depths, aware of that moment where she’d pushed him into her and he had grown heated in his passion. It hadn’t been her fault that he’d collapsed for days, it had been… joy.

Her fingers pumped the tool of pleasure into her depths, reminded of that morning, the staffs that they wielded as weapons set aside. It was not a burden on her system to practice magic, but it was now something that she felt less inclined to do, since he was not there to fight against.

The fights that they had throughout the ages was something that she recalled, whatever incarnation he had. There was only bitterness and loss within her, as the toy pumped into her depths. She had been the giver once, knowing that he’d have been her lover for nearly two years, the toy that she’d furnished from wood driven into his rear, as he had accidentally done as well to her before, a hint of vengeance for that slight.

His body had still been muscular before the sickness had wasted it, and he had panted and squealed, the begged ‘Salem, ah, hey!’ encouraging her even more as she’d leaned over, the feeling of his legs parting, as the toy she’d fastened to her hips and pushed against the heat between her legs pushed into him, the groan coming from his lips as she’d kissed him, her hips moving with small thrusts to let him experience the sensation of what it was like to be penetrated.

The tanned skin, the muscles glistening with the sweat of their labour, as his manhood stood painfully erect, her fake phallus having driven deep into him, the balls resting against her own pale skin as she rutted him, the whimpers from his lips pushed into what was an eager moan after some more coaxing, their tongues dueling against each other as she kissed him, her thrusts stopping, as his strong hands wrapped around her, his member throbbing against his own wife’s skin as she took him, that tight rump of his resisting a little.

Her hands stimulated her by thrusting the phallus into her, as she turned in the bed, the heat between her legs rising again. It had been something terrible to do, he had said, as his erection had deflated after the sixth orgasm, but it had been fun, even with the streaks of his seed clinging to her flesh, the sloppy sounds that came as she had mounted him for the fifth and sixth orgasm, the fake penis that she’d fashioned thrown aside and her pussy lips wrapping around his slickened shaft.

_ ‘I loved you!’ _

She came, the juices splattering over the toy, the small shriek louder than the music that was playing, as her legs kicked and quivered in the orgasm, reminded of that one time, of the feeling of his tenderness afterwards, as they had kissed, naked and vulnerable below the sheets.

It was love, she knew. A love that had been broken because of his selfishness. She was not the one to blame, obviously. She knew that there would be no challengers in this world against her except him.

The toy was slowly pulled out of her depths, the phallus looking as lifelike as it always had, the wood veined and darkened with age. It had been three hundred years since she had let it be fashioned, and there undoubtedly were better tools to pleasure oneself with on the market, yet it was not something that she would wish to purchase simply for the carnal need.

She was a queen of a kingdom which no longer existed, and she was not some plebeian wench who would be lost within pleasure, the toy’s glistening coating of her own juices like a testament to her own cravings. She had not taken a lover, yet she knew that he had been the one to spawn many children throughout the ages.

There was only the hope within her that he would suffer, like she suffered. Her children had been  _ beautiful _ ! He had no right to take them away, saying that her way was not the right way! They had so much to offer to the world, rather than to merely do as the Gods had said!

The wood had been polished and encased with a resin-like substance that would keep it smooth and warm to the touch, a perfect toy that had been made to withstand the ages, a gold-inlaid one too opulent for her tastes.

A queen should not be too gaudy, she had always understood, and there would only be muted colours in her wardrobe, as she was not in search of a man. The black cloth that she garbed herself in was something of mourning, a colour that had represented herself after the darkness of the pools of Grimm had bleached her skin. She had seen the darkness creep through her veins, staining them black and filthy, no matter what she ate and what she did to remain healthy.

She felt the rush inside her that came with the faintest of hints of acceptance of the need, the burden on her body that did not stop. She felt the need pulse in her groin, seeing the head that had stimulated her during the lonely nights, the feeling of that power that had come with making herself feel good, feeling the rush of that need inside her depths, as she recalled the elation that she had felt when he had rejoined her.

It was a difference between the men that she had loved, but it had been love at first sight again, even though the outside had changed. The feeling of her heart skipping a beat and that warmth of love once more invading her cold depths as she rushed to make them a cup of tea, the warmth of the water having been horribly heated as she’d overheated it by accident.

Laughing with him again had been so good, back when he’d returned to her. She had held hate in her heart against the gods, and she still did. They had taken from her the one who mattered the most and had now returned them, as a cruel game. Their punishment of her had not helped one bit, she had found out, yet she did not know or care about her immortality, with Ozma present. He was her husband, her lawfully wedded husband that did not wonder about the world too much whilst she was with him. A general, a hero, a man who smiled at her and had given her love, which she’d wished to fill the void in her heart brought on by the loneliness of her youth.

The toy went inside her again, a small puddle coming from her loins as she shifted in the bed once more, rolling to a dry spot, her body aching with the heavy orgasms so swiftly after another, the music shifting slowly to the next hymnal of the set, a few more waiting, as she gasped at the penetration, reminded of that time when she’d slept with him once more.

It had been lonely in the bed without him, but he had fit in with her without an issue, the single bed something that she had put there, as she had not bothered to keep the bedroom in perfect shape, too painful for the ages, the old bed having half-rotted away in the interim.

She pushed her fingers against his buttocks as his nakedness was apparent, a new body to house his soul. Her teeth nicked his neck as she kissed him, pushing herself on top. He was almost shy, as if some remnant of him had not been aware of her needs, as if there was another man within him, but it mattered not.

It was a small creak of the bed, a shifting as she pushed him into her, a smaller, lengthier shaft than she had been used to, but the feeling had been beautiful, the warmth inside her heart blossoming into something that had been bright and wonderful. The hate and the anger had faded, as she’d brought love to her man.

The slow rocking of her hips brought her joy, as his gasps and moans were lighter, a man of less experience with her in the bed, and the shuddering exhale that came as he spent himself inside her, her arms wrapped around him in a loving embrace as she rode out that orgasm, the feeling of his love and warmth pulling around her like a blanket.

She had been insatiable, and they had not emerged from the bed for two days, the feeling of her newly restored husband’s body like an unexplored valley that she had to discover every nook and cranny of. He had grown used to her touch, to her enthusiasm. She had loved him so much that it hurt.

Salem’s fingers pushed the toy within her body again, the warmth sliding through her lower body, as she remembered the discussion about what to do next in-between kisses, their afterglow-laden thoughts only about touching each other and loving each other, the kisses to his neck and the whispers of ‘Salem, yes, ah!’ when she dared to use a finger on his rump. She had not been with him in her rear again, and she had suggested it for a moment. A dutiful wife would try something at least once. They had all the time in the world, after all.

The feeling of him inside her rump was something that was still odd. It was not supposed to feel good, but it did, as he groaned and moaned like a woman, her hips pushing back as she was on all fours on the bed, her head turning to see the flushed cheeks as he drove his manhood into her rear, the shuddering panting exhales coming like gusts on the wind, the brush of love making everything acceptable, even as he came with a little shrill shriek, the warmth inside her bowels making her feel even better than before.

The toy slid into her sex deeper, as she started to pump her snatch like a wanton woman, the desires of the past rousing once more. She had not been wrong to insist that she should have been the one to take control next time, she knew better. He had been a bumpkin before, a warrior, who held no knowledge of governance.

They had posed as gods for the people of Remnant, something for them to believe in and to worship, rather than to be left in the darkness that had been festering ever since the gods had left the humans to their own devices.

The toy pushed deeper into her depths with a womanly growl coming from her lips, a muted sonata starting up with a thunderous crescendo, as she arched her back, remembering the good times. A feeling of love as she knew that they would be worshipped by the people, the people who would make their dream of freedom a reality.

The brush of her body against his, of a toy that had been forged for the express purpose of penetration for someone, a blacksmith’s art that had been a quiet and discreet purchase, the blacksmith silenced forevermore in a blaze of flame. It was not something to speak of to her husband, yet it had been a moment where he had flushed and whispered that this might be a little bit too much.

She had not cared for that, as she drove the shaft into his tight rump, his body moving with that supple grace of this fleshy shell to her husband, his bottom nearly slurping at the shaft, the lubrication allowing her to slip into that rump with no great issue. The pulsating throb of his shaft, the erect member standing to the full height that had been possible.

A little thrust and he had whimpered, an effeminate, unmanly sound, as he was driven into a fervor, his eyes meeting hers as she pushed further. A spurt of white seed splattered across the underside of her breasts, her pale skin stained with his whiteness and a low tittering giggle coming from her lips.

_ ‘He looked like he loved it.’ _

It was not a dark thought in her mind to hear his panting whimper, as she’d taken his manhood and stroked it, his voice pleading with her to let him rest for a moment, the worry that suffused his voice making not only her shudder internally but also to feel that need within her. She had done it again the next day when he’d recovered a little, the bruises on his skin not fading away, the urges inside her slowly starting to ramp up, her teeth nicking his skin and drawing blood. He marked her like that as well, her body restoring itself swiftly to perfect health, the soothing whispers in his ear that she loved him so much that she’d rather keep him safe.

Her loins quivered at the thought of more of that sensual delight shooting through her, at the feeling of him swelling up again inside her, the feeling of that brief mourning that had come when he’d finally deflated after the sixth orgasm in a row, the tantalizing need within her to languish within the pleasure, to stroke that ire to a frenzied little murmur that would scald the ears of her lover, her body needing it.

Her pussy leaked with juices as she continued to thrust the toy into her, the need to reach that peak greater now, as the building pleasure within her groin made her feel the sensitive shudders of her lower body complete with the tensing of her toes, hips thrusting back against the toy she was pushing into her depths, the pleasure needed.

The music still played, yet it was a little wail that escaped her lips as she just loosened her muscles around the toy and drove it in deep, the sensitivity still as high as she’d always had it. The feeling of those tensed muscles clutching at the cock within her was divine, as she hit that peak and kept on climbing.

It was not an elegant feeling as she realized that she had blacked out for an instant, the pleasure having hit her with that rush that’d left her insensate, the toy pushed into her pussy nearly to the base, the feeling of the hard shaft inside her like a badge of honour, like something that had come and brought her a spark of joyous sensation as she quivered and tensed up, a whimper slipping from her lips as she felt the urge inside her to come harder, as she jerked it loose. She laid there for a moment, just leaving it inside her.

She craved more. She craved more, she wanted more, she needed to have this little moment in time of peace and relaxation. She had…

She crawled out of the bed and walked on shaky steps to the music player, the final number on the track already pumping out the deep bass notes, as she opened the disk after shutting it down and then pushing another disk in, a quicker, upbeat musical number, something for when she wished to go wilder. The remembrance of the love that she’d once had, of the feeling of being with a child within her womb, with a new life that they’d created together, something that would show the world that SHE loved HIM.

The music started with the lightest of violins, pushing into a grand crescendo of flutes that spoke of the daylight and the glory of the world, a number that held the love of the world, a number that she normally would not listen to except on the times when she remembered the brightness of her life with her family.

She pulled herself into the comfortable nook in her bed again, aware of the feeling of being within the solitude of her own private sanctum once again, the brush of her hand over her breasts stroking the hard nipples. The mournful love for the man that she had seen abandon her, who had taken her children with him in an effort to ‘save them from her’ had still made her heart feel the hate and anger for him.

She could imagine him sitting there, smugly looking at her with that insufferable grin on his face, the whisper that came with that face, his eyes with that little apology in it as always when she’d been failed, a hope for ‘better luck next time’ and that insufferable feeling of how he’d abandoned her, because she hadn’t been good enough, she hadn’t been the woman who would rule the world with him, to defy the will of the Gods.

The toy pressed against the muscular ring of her rump, the lubrication of her sex still making it able to push in, as she imagined taking him in his rear, to make him whisper his plea for apology as she ravaged him. The tanned skin marked with the scratches of her ire, as he laid there below her, his eyes almost challenging her to do it, to drive her faux phallus into his tight tender rump, to drive him wild, as his erection stood out like a beacon to her.

It had been a lark the first time, but he had enjoyed it. The feel of that moment when her husband had decided that it would be time for it and had actually bent over, offering himself for her, had been a special moment. The children were asleep, there was nobody to disturb them and she had done so with relish, feeling how the pleasure just continued to come. She had been happy, as he had been. He’d tensed, and then it’d been a moment where he’d  _ moaned _ .

The toy slid in deeper, as her lips uttered another moan, the happy music that had become the flow of the room was something that made her feel a spark of joy in her heart, the weight of those moments that she had suffered with the displeasure of the gods slipping away as she lost herself in her memories, her asshole clutching at the fake shaft.

_ ‘You said that you wanted it! I gave you everything!’ _

She had wanted to give him everything, but their children had been  _ hope _ . The world needed magic to survive it, the simple humans only made the world worse. He had not seen that the children that she had borne into the world had been enough to cure this sick and twisted world of its imbalance.

She was a woman of style and class, yet her fingers steered the phallus into her bottom without any sort of restraint, imagining how she would take him, to punish him for his degeneracy of daring to leave her, her face buried against the pillow as she pumped her ass with the toy, the shuddering sensation of her anal muscle clutching at the toy, the weight of her mind not loosened one bit as she pushed her mind to the goals she wished to see.

He would plead for her to marry him again. He would be the one who would see her take  _ everything _ from him and to make the humans of this world feel that pain in their hearts as they knew what a false god he had been! They needed  _ her _ as their guiding leader, their queen that would rule over them, and Ozma had been at fault!

Her mind conjured up the panting and squealing Ozma, whatever shape he had chosen for himself in the next incarnation that he would have, screaming for her mercy as she ravished that asshole of his, her pussy leaking slimy droplets of womanly liquids down her thighs, her fingers pushing the hard tool into her rump, the pleasure making her quiver and twitch, as she could see him in a dungeon, humanity brought to their knees now at another attempt to unify them.

He would have failed at his attempt to unify them, he would have had only divided them further, and she would be the only one he could turn to. She would see him plead, beg and whimper for her blessing, simply because he had been  _ wrong _ .

She would claim him and he would come, if she let him. A band around his manhood to cease his orgasm, and her to watch as he pleaded, as he begged her to please be allowed to come, to be at her mercy and to admit that he was wrong to have even dared to doubt his wife!

She continued with her ragged thrusts into that tight hole of his, seeing the tears leak from his eyes as he whimpered and pleaded, that cock of his still tensed and tight, not ready for the release, a glove with ice-cubes wrapped around his balls to add stimulus to the torment she was inflicting, the whimpers undoubtedly increasing with the chill, as he would plead for her to let him go, that this world was worth saving, when her world had perished in the fight with her husband, their children now long dead.

It would be vengeance, and she would ask him  _ why _ , because she didn’t know why! They had always had it good, she had indulged him whenever he wished, because she loved him so much. A queen she had been, yet he had been the king that she wished to share her life with.

He would plead for release, he’d be strapped there so she could fuck that tight ass of his until it was loose, his balls caught within a tight mesh with little things attached so he’d forever know that feeling of near-release, as he’d whimper and beg her for mercy. She had been  _ hurt _ , she had been tormented by the death he had caused, the children that she loved so much now dead thanks to him, the blood that had been spilled in order to ensure that her dream of a happy, loving marriage that would never come to fruition as long as he lived now, because he’d taken from her.

_ ‘You’re the one at fault!’ _

The hate within her made her drive the toy deeper into her rump, the feeling of seeing him in torment, begging and pleading with her for mercy, for a respite of his torment and to be allowed to come, to be allowed to please her again, like it had been in the past, when things had been okay and well and there had been four beautiful children.

She would make him whisper their names before she would grant him the release that he craved, before the next host would be found. Eternal despair for him, just because she was eternally lost and alive now.

The cycle would come again, as he would be found and brought before her, to be visited by the punishment that he’d earned because she was alone again, alone in this cruel, cold world. The fingers drove the toy hard into her depths, as she imagined that she’d fuck his ass as punishment, forever denying the pleasure of her sex to him, a punishment that would fit. There was no man as special as Ozma in this world, yet her vows to love him for eternity, even in sickness and in death, kept her bound to him. He was the only man who could coax the pleasure out of her old and yet still perfectly fit body.

He was the man she loved, and she would make him scream for her to love him again, because the hate inside her still burned like a lit oven that was about to erupt. She would torment him, never granting him the peace of an orgasm, until he swore to her that he would stay, that she would never be lonely again!

And… and she might let him come then. She might… she might loosen the binds, just a little. It wasn’t that she wished to be touched, no… She was…

_ ‘Ah… Ozma.’ _

The weight of his crimes was enough, but…

The toy pushed into her rear harsher, as she imagined it. A body rising from his binds, a startled sound from her lips, half-anticipating, half fearful. A hard rampant erection, standing there for her to torment, as he would push her down and then drive himself into her, her body still, as she let him, as she didn’t resist.

The feeling of that cock sliding into her rear, as she was given the same treatment as she’d given him, pressed against the ground like some commoner, as he took her, the feeling of the wrong hole clenching around his hard rod as he drove himself into her like a wild rutting animal, hissing at her that she was still his wife, that she was still the woman he loved.

Her legs quivered, as her breathing came in ragged gasps, a low ‘oh, oooh, oooh!’ from her mouth like the utterance of some low-born wench, as he’d grab her by the hair and then pull her head up, forced to crawl as he took her, and the heat of his seed erupting inside her depths, the low guttural sounds from him like an animal, craving her, craving that release and continuing to fuck her, to break her of her habit of being an evil witch, to… to  _ love _ .

She wanted it. Her eyes were half-narrowed as she could see him there, in bed with her, driving his hard shaft into her, her rump swaying somewhat as her head brushed against the pillow, the pounding of that hard tool of pleasure into her ass definitely sinful and unwieldy for the immediate pleasure, but the feeling of being with her husband again, of being beloved and cared for was too hard to resist.

She gasped and groaned, imagining him seizing her by the hands and pressing her to the bed and keeping her pinned, groaning and moaning her name in her ear, like before. A woman and her husband, a queen and a king making love, even if it was the wrong hole. She was a woman, and she was with her man. It was how it had been, even as she was smacked around, her body bruising and healing swiftly. She was immortal, and she loved him. She hated him. She loved him and hated him and everything just turned white for a moment as her peak shattered her concentration.

She came with a startled, gasping groan that made her whole throat ache, a louder ‘Ozma!’ from her lips, the upbeat tempo of the music still coming from the speakers, as her pussy leaked and dripped, the sheets definitely needing a cleaning. It had been six days since she had last had them washed thoroughly, she remembered, but the thought of sleep was still something that did not often rise to the top of her mind.

She felt the tension in her groin, the pain in her rump, aware that she’d nearly shoved the entire phallus into her bowels, the pleasure that had come from it bringing her something of a minor climax, as she remembered that feeling that she’d felt before, that touch of him, the whisper and the feeling of being taken like a woman.

Her fingers pushed into her depths, the toy still within her rump, as she tried to ride that wave of pleasure still, a shiver that pushed through her body as she could feel the shaft in her ass push against the sensitive fingers that she had, the weight of her body shifting a little and imagining how he’d punish her for being a bad wife, to love him.

He might even take the initiative, forcing himself onto the fake shaft she’d have in her loins, pushing her down and riding her, as if he were a woman and she was the man. A thrill inside her continued to burn as she’d imagined it, the weight of his body against her own. She was not a heavyset woman, only a woman whose grace and poise had been lauded throughout the ages that she had lived, the style of a queen easily adopted, as she was the witch in the woods, the queen in her tower, alone.

The panting and groaning, her arms pinned above her head, as he took them and kept them there, his body thrusting down on that fake shaft, his cock ejaculating all over her at times, as he just kept on going, marking her, staining her with his seed, knowing that she would be his wife, that she would love him, that she would always love him, no matter how long it took…

_ ‘I hate you.’ _

The hate blossomed again, and she imagined how she’d try to fight, only to feel him not giving up, to feel him struggle against her, to make her feel that pleasure, marked with his scent and his seed, the wish that she’d never be alone once more tingling on the sides of her mind, the weight that burned through her mind of the question, once more refused to bow her head before him.

The orgasm was a shattering one, as she lost control, howling a low howl as she came, the fingers cramping and scratching her tender insides, the blood mixing with her juices as she healed up immediately, the pain adding to the pleasure as she imagined him taking control over her, to make her his wife, to fuck her like a common peasant fucked his woman or some woman of the night. A lowly woman with her highborn man, a common tramp that was a slave to her man’s pleasure, a woman who couldn’t live without him.

She was his wife, and she was his property, as he was her property as the queen and goddess of the world. She was the one who would float above the skies and who would gaze down at the world that she was a goddess of, knowing that they all worshiped and revered her and her husband, knowing that they would  _ all _ bow down to her. She was a queen and a goddess, and she would do what she wished, she would rule  _ as _ she wished and none would dare to challenge her!

She slowly came down from the euphoric high that she’d had languished in, the faint hint of sweat on her skin still remaining, as she realized that she’d drifted off by the feeling of pleasure that she’d gained.

She was alone. She was still alone, and there was no Ozma in the bed with her, no whisper of good morning, good night or good afternoon, no hope that there would be anything but pain in the future for her.

It was not  _ her _ fault!

If he’d listened to her, if they’d made the world unified, and only had their children in the world with them, it would have been perfect! They were immortal, they knew what was coming when the magic was used, they could teach their children and grandchildren about how great the kingdom had been when they were young.

The Grimm would be manageable with her gifts…

But he had killed their children, she had bore witness to that. He had been the one to raise his weapon against her and he had taken their children from her!

She slowly pulled herself out of the bed and started to bundle up the sheets, knowing that a queen did not often do the domestic tasks herself, the rage burning inside her once more, despite the pleasure that she’d gained from it.

He was the one at fault, and he’d be begging her for some love! He would be begging her, no matter the cause, no matter the circumstances!

As she spread a fresh set of linen over the bed, the domestic chore not something that she’d ever grow unused to, she allowed herself a brief moment of peace. A warm bath might soothe her a little, post-orgasm. The bed would remain as it was, made up, fresh sheets and all, a dusting of perfume spent to get the smell of relief out of the air. One did not wish to sleep with the smell of one’s own enjoyment in one’s nostrils.

That was uncouth and slovenly, and she had enjoyed the feeling of her husband’s touch and the ‘we’ll wash them later, Salem’ once upon a time, when things had not been such painful affairs, as she strode to the bathroom with calm, quiet steps that were a little less steady than she’d normally use.

The heated water was a blessing, with the system built into the palatial space that she called her castle of Evernight, a memory of what had once been the palace in which the Goddess and God lived. A hope in her heart that there would be peace and laughter once more was crushed, as she gazed at her reflection in the mirror in her personal bathroom, the pale skin marred with veins that did not show health and glory, but rather sickness and decay, rot of the flesh that had been pristine before, pale and weathered now rather than smooth and wonderful.

She was still bodily twenty-three, but her flesh was showing the signs of the ages that she had lived. A disgusting look, with the veins pulsing with black ichors of the pools, the corruption hurting and painting her appearance. A monster, somewhat twisted, no longer the woman she had been all those millennia ago. A witch, rather than a queen.

She stepped into the scalding hot waters, heedless of the pain that she felt, starting to scrub at her sensitive parts. The toy was pushed into the sink of the bathroom, left to be cleansed by the scalding hot water that she had heated. One did not wish to have unsanitary things in one’s sex the next time one pleasured themselves.

_ ‘I hate you.’ _

She did. She hated her husband, she hated what she had become. All that she had wanted was just a peaceful life, to live with her husband, because without him, there would be no reason to live. This accursed flesh was something that was only a burden, something that she was saddled with.

Would he even find her pretty anymore? Would he not recoil in horror, with this horrid mockery of a woman that she had now become? Would he be as enthusiastic when her skin remained as cool to the touch as a corpse, because of her reasons for shattering the world?

He was wrong. He had to be wrong, because otherwise, it would not matter. Everything that he’d done was  _ his _ fault, and he’d pay for that. She wanted to be a wife, she wanted to love him and to be never alone again, and…

_ ‘It’s all the gods fault!’ _

The world would keep moving on. Humans would be trying their best to worm their way out of the bargains they struck for power, to achieve dominance over each other. They needed a guardian, a goddess who would dictate the world for them, and Ozma would need to see that his hopes and dreams were but a foolish fantasy of a man who did not know how to give up!

He didn’t see that SHE was the best option for the world! She was immortal, what did the gods matter in this world when she was the queen of this remnant?! They would be gone, until the Relics were united, or even better, if they never were united again. She could throw them into a vault and throw it into the deepest, darkest depths of Remnant, never to be found again, and she would rule over the world forevermore, the Grimm obedient to her will.

She was a woman who had been born with the right to rule, the right to be loved!

_ ‘Why don’t you love me?! I LOVE YOU!’ _

The water started to boil, as her rage took hold once more and the evaporating water created steam, as she pulled herself out of her bathtub, the water evaporating. She was clean enough, and she reeked of a fragrant soap, pulling a new dress on and marching her way out into the castle’s depths once more before she ascended the stairs that led towards the grand spire, finding herself at the highest spire once more, staring at the fragmented moon in the heavens, still a fresh sight to her, as she let the anger within her boil and unwind, unleashing her rage that she felt at what she had lost, all because of him!

She would get what she had always wanted. He would never leave her alone again, because she was his wife and she loved him! He would come to see in the end, that all his desires were achieved through her, yes, he would.

She looked at the shattered moon with her crimson gaze, her eyes burning with that hatred, renewed in her passion, the faintest hint of her loins burning with desire stirring on an even greater hate and rage within her. This had only stoked her rage, had only brought the burning flame to a greater bonfire within her, the air quivering with the magic that she controlled.

It had been a brief night to herself, but the moon would slowly descend down the horizon again. It would be time for the world that Ozma had built up to come crashing down again, like the moon sunk below the horizon.

She’d bring his world crashing down on him  _ soon _ . He would  _ rue _ the day that he had killed their children!

She was Salem, and she did not leave such a slight from her husband go unanswered!

She was still Remnant’s goddess, whereas the two Brothers had left it!

She had the right to rule! It was  _ all _ their fault!

* * *

**This was commissioned work by an anonymous commissioner.**

**Enjoy!**


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